


shift

by tsonis



Series: howl [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: "ah shit gotta grab the polysporin sorry babe", Anal Sex, M/M, Werewolf Jesse McCree, also mccree gets a little bite-y but we're all adults here, and he doesn't feel as sad or mopey about the biting more like, ok mostly sex and just more world building w character friendship, satya and fareeha are best friends and dated at one point, sort of plot? but also sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12403794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsonis/pseuds/tsonis
Summary: “Are you sure?” His voice is barely even human-sounding, and the look he gives Hanzo is that of a predator about to pounce its prey.“Yes.” He barely has the word out before McCree all but devours him.Surrender, Hanzo thinks, has never been sweeter.





	shift

**Author's Note:**

> short and i hope sweet? school and life kick my ass again and i was trying to think about how to tackle this and blanked and put it off but here we are!! relationship is changing slowly, as well as adding more plot? who knows tbh
> 
> warnings: explicit sex, roughness in it (biting) minor angst and some food, so avoid if any of those bother you.
> 
> unbeta'd btw lemme know the mistakes if there are any (and there will be)

He enjoyed the tranquility of his Sunday mornings, the stillness of it was never once broken, like the surface of a pond. It allowed him the luxury to shed the identity Hanzo Shimada, a man whose hands were bloody with attempted fratricide and the deaths of countless others, but to be a middle-aged man basking in the glow of the ending weekend. It was also a routine of his, one that provided what little stability his life had ever offered. He would wake up early, enjoy his tea—this month it was Pu’er, courtesy of Mei, and run through the familiar motions of maintenance of his Storm Bow.

He frowns just thinking about it, already missing the peace and quiet it once brought. Beside him, McCree snorts in his sleep and presses his face into the space where Hanzo’s neck meets his shoulder, breathing deep. The leg that is currently thrown over Hanzo’s middle has moved him the entire night, drawing him closer and closer to the center of McCree’s mass. Hanzo purses his lips, wiggling in another fruitless attempt to escape—he had _tried_ earlier in the night, only for McCree to crack a single, almost _glowing_ golden eye and _growl_ in annoyance—only to have McCree shift until his entire body was pinning Hanzo’s to the bed.

He flushes, the heat that McCree’s producing as well as the feel of him against him causing sweat to bead along his back. 

“Jesse,” he intones, “I need to get up.”

McCree makes a sound somewhere between a snore and a huff, and Hanzo _swears_ he feels a smile against his neck.

“If we don’t get up now there won’t be any hot water for a shower, this is the time Fareeha gets up to take her own.” He has no idea, but he hopes he sounds sincere enough to spur McCree to either wake up with him or release him.

“S’okay,” McCree replies, slightly muffled from where he is pressing kisses against his skin, “we’ll just cling together for warmth. Skin t’skin for it to work the best, babe.”

Hanzo lets out a laugh, and uses his free hand to press against McCree’s back. If he had any doubt that this was all some nightmare (dream, he refuses to admit, a beautiful dream), the feeling of McCree, solid and warm, beneath his hand was enough to convince him it was real. He pats softly, feeling his breathing steady beneath his calloused palm. 

“Perhaps another few minutes.”

McCree rumbles in approval. Hanzo tries, and fails, to fight the smile that spreads on his lips.

 

\--

 

“So, you two ever, y’know, done it?” Fareeha asks, leaning forward in her chair as if it some sort of sordid secret she’s about to share.

“Are you twelve?” Satya hisses. Hanzo can’t see her hand from where he is sitting, but he bets she has her fingers pressed into Fareeha’s side based off the yelp.

“Be mad all you want but I know we’re both curious.”

“It is none of your business,” is all Hanzo says, already regretting leaving the safety of his room for this.

“They haven’t,” Fareeha nods sagely, and she reaches out a hand to pat the one of his resting on the table, “there, there. It’ll happen one day, maybe he just thinks you aren’t ready.”

Ire rises in him, and before he can stop himself he snatches his hand away. “I am _plenty_ ready.”

“I hardly see how this is appropriate breakfast discussion,” Satya murmurs, tilting her head in some silent thanks as their omnic waiter passes them their dishes. 

“It’s not breakfast,” Fareeha mutters, “it’s brunch.”

“And it’ll be a funeral if you don’t stop talking,” she sing-songs, eyes sharp as steel as she glares at Fareeha. “Now stop talking and enjoy your meal.”

She scowls, stabbing the waffle on her plate with more force than necessary; Hanzo watches in horror as she chews—no, _mauls_ —the offending pastry. Satya, meanwhile, elegantly plucks the speared fruits from her plate, chewing thoughtfully and with eyes closed.

“Where do you think she is right now?” Fareeha asks, eyeing Hanzo as he pushes the scrambled eggs around his plate. 

“Anywhere but here,” Satya replies, lips spread in a wide grin, “but more specifically, a beautiful garden with big fences and a locked gate. Fareeha is locked out, and the garden is so vast I don’t have to hear her voice.” A sigh escapes her painted lips. “Perfection.”

“Don’t worry, Satya, I don’t want anything to do with your secret garden.”

Satya chokes, and Fareeha pats her on the back through her coughing fit. 

“How are you two even friends?” Hanzo marvels.

“There’s a lot of love between us,” Fareeha remarks, eyes gleaming with happiness as she stares at Satya. Satya’s face softens and she smiles. “You just don’t see it.”

Hanzo raises a brow, chewing in silent contemplation. “I guess.”

“Thanks for your stamp of approval,” Satya says drily, using the corner of her napkin to delicately dab at her lips.

“Our relationship aside, I just think it’s weird you guys haven’t slept together yet. How long have you two been together again?” 

“Almost half a year now?” Satya offers.

“About,” Hanzo confirms, “six months next Friday.”

Fareeha lets out a low whistle. “Congratulations on locking that down.” She stops to scan the cafeteria around them. “Speaking of, where is he?”

“Probably sleeping, he’s been more tired than usual lately.”

“It may be because of the missions Angela’s sent him on,” Satya offers.

“What missions?” Hanzo tries to keep the edge of worry from his voice. He’d seen McCree less in the past few weeks, but had equated it to a change in schedules with Hanzo being reassigned to work with Genji. 

“They’re sending him to sniff Reaper out, _literally_ ,” Fareeha doesn’t even have the good nature to smile when she says it.

“Why? How do you even know that?” The ‘Why McCree? Why not someone else?’ sits between the three of them like stagnant air. 

“Angela had some files open on her table the other night, said something about how ‘no one can do what he does’,” she looks at him then, voice serious, “so it seems we all have ghosts in our past that just refuse to stay dead.”

 

\--

 

His head feels like he’s under water as he walks back to his room. Why hadn’t McCree told him? Jesse didn’t have to tell him everything, but he’d read the reports on what Reaper was like, the ease at which he’d killed—

Hanzo quashes that line of thought before it begins. Jesse was a professional. Or at least as close to professional someone like him could get. He presses his key into the lock, not even getting the chance to turn it when it swings open. McCree stands there, towel wrapped around his waist and hair tied into a small, neat braid. 

“Perfect timin’,” he grins, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of Hanzo’s face. “How was breakfast?”

“It was okay,” he says, not looking at him as he brushes past and toes off his shoes.

“Uh, _okay_ ,” McCree draws out the word, shutting the door behind Hanzo with practiced ease. “Somethin’ up with you?”

“No, why?”

“Normally you’d be on ‘bout something before you even step foot in the door,” McCree shrugs, and moves into the kitchen to grab his abandoned cup on the counter. 

He opens his mouth, dismissive answer already on the tip of his tongue, before closing it. He follows the damp footprints Jesse’s left behind into the kitchen, and leans against the island. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Pardon?” Hanzo’s annoyance flares slightly; they both know he heard what he said, the man’s hearing is sensitive enough to hear a heartbeat for God’s sake. 

“When were you going to tell me about the missions Angela put you on?” Jesse opens his mouth, and Hanzo raises a hand to stop him. “Please, do not _lie_ to me, Jesse. I know about them sending you to look for Reaper.”

McCree doesn’t reply, instead drinks from his mug while he eyes Hanzo; it almost chills him that he is on the end of such a cold and assessing look from Jesse. “Was wonderin’ when you’d find out.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Yeah,” he looks scandalised at the mere thought, “there’s just a lot of red tape ‘round this whole thing, it’s not even on official Overwatch records, I wanted to tell you, darlin’, but I _couldn’t_.”

“Did you volunteer or did they force you?” He deflates, grateful he has the counter to learn against.

“I volunteered.” There’s a beat of silence, and he skirts the island’s edge to stand behind Hanzo and press his forehead to the back of his neck. “Should’ve talked with you ‘bout it.”

“What would they tell me if anything happened to you?” Hanzo hates the way his voice trembles.

“Nothin’,” he feels Jesse’s arms snake around his waist, “would’ve said I was M.I.A most likely. It’s what they did with him.”

“Him?”

“Reaper, AKA Gabriel Reyes.” 

Hanzo shifts in his grasp, and gently takes hold of McCree’s face between his hands. “You mean…” 

He nods as best as he can with his face held, and Hanzo presses their lips together. It’s sweet and lingers a little longer than necessary. “Whatever happens,” he murmurs between kisses, “I support and love you. Just come here to me, please. Come home.”

The arms around his waist tighten briefly before McCree releases his hold to loop a finger through Hanzo’s belt loop, the other hand raises to cup Hanzo’s cheek, so delicate in its touch its like he is handling glass. McCree looks at him with such open reverence, eyes mapping his face like he is trying to burn this image into his mind before he presses their lips together again, slow and languid. It is so much like their first kiss, minus the soap suds, that it has his heart aching in his chest. 

Hanzo’s own hands wander of their own accord, lazily gliding down past Jesse’s Adam’s apple and steady pulse, pressing into familiar ridges of thick muscle cording his back and middle, before settling at the top of the towel. Jesse’s tongue stills midmovement, almost as if to ask a question. He feels bold, and a little drunk from how McCree’s kissing him, and nimbly unties the towel; it falls between them, landing with a soft rustle of fabric that seems to be amplified near tenfold. 

Jesse lets out a ragged breath through his nose, but gets with the program, kisses becoming less gentle and more heated and desperate. Hanzo can feel the hints of teeth that he struggles to rein in, just the edge of danger, and he pulls against McCree’s hold to catch his breath.

There is a wet noise when they release, one that would usually have him wrinkling his nose, but has his blood pumping in anticipation. Jesse’s pupils are blown, what little bit of his iris not swallowed by it are a brilliant honey gold, and his chest heaves with effort to restrain himself. 

“Are you sure?” His voice is barely even human-sounding, and the look he gives Hanzo is that of a predator about to pounce its prey.

“Yes.” He barely has the word out before McCree all but devours him. 

Surrender, Hanzo thinks, has never been sweeter.

 

\--

 

McCree has him bodily pressed into the mattress, one hand, the one of flesh and bone, linking fingers with Hanzo’s own, while the other is pressing two slick fingers into him. Hanzo fights the urge to tense up at the feeling of metal, cold and foreign, and McCree soothes him with murmured words, pressing a kiss to his sweat-slicked forehead. Hanzo’s blood runs hot at the feeling him between his thighs, with his cock pressing, hard and warm, against Hanzo’s hip bellying the calm exterior.

“Easy, baby,” he croons, voice low and rough in a way that has sparks skittering down his spine, “it’ll just take a minute.”

“What will?” Hanzo doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed that his voice is more of a pant than anyth— _Oh_ , he thinks, that’s new. He lets out a moan, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

McCree’s fingers are _vibrating_. His hips stutter ever so slightly, trying to get his fingers deeper, and McCree releases his hand to hold his hips steady. 

“You okay?” 

Hanzo nods, and lets out a low grunt as McCree gently pumps his fingers, curling ever so slightly to massage and caress on every flex of his robotic forearm. It’s unlike what he is used to himself—quick and rough, making a go to stretch himself as quickly as he could with the sting of pain just barely above bearable—Jesse’s fingertip moves with startlingly accuracy and gentleness, driving Hanzo just on the right edge of delirious. Not to mention the fact they’re fucking _vibrating_.

“Ready for another?” 

“Mm,” Hanzo purrs and forces his eyes open, smiling when he sees the flush high on McCree’s cheeks. 

Jesse, as dutiful as ever, presses in another—Hanzo sends up a silent prayer to whoever Jesse has honed his skills on—and undulates them, slow and sure like the waves lapping at the shore. There’s a power in the way that Jesse hold him so effortlessly, and how he can enjoy watching Hanzo come apart on his fingers that has him rutting and grinding down on Jesse’s hand.

“Jesse,” he gasps, fingers moving to drag nails down the length of McCree’s back.

“Another one already?” He laughs, sort of breathless, and Hanzo digs a little harder than necessary into the meat of his shoulder.

“I want you to fuck me, please.” 

“Patience, Han, all in good time. Don’t wanna hurt y’now.”

He refuses to let him have the last word, but his breath is punched out of him when Jesse increases the vibration. He gives a whole-body shiver, at the feeling of it—practically bone deep at this point—and just settles in for the ride. 

“You ain’t gonna ask again? Where’s the fun in that?”

“Patience,” Hanzo mimics, sneering as he does so, and has it wiped from his face when McCree eases his still-vibrating fingers from him. He commends himself for not winning at the loss.

“Sour puss,” he mutters, before easing himself off Hanzo. 

Hanzo watches with rapt attention as Jesse leans across the bed to grab a condom and tear it open with his teeth, the movement is practised and fluid, but he’s almost jealous of the sharpness of McCree’s teeth to open it so easily. He rolls it on, tongue sticking out as he pinches the tip of it, before grabbing the glistening bottle of lube; he makes a show of popping the cap and drizzling some into his now-still fingers and slicks himself up, agonisingly slow. 

Jesse grins wolfishly down at him and wiggles his hips, his cock bobs obscenely with the movement. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

“Any longer and I’ll be nothing but dust,” Hanzo’s voice is fond as he rolls his eyes. “Now hurry up and _fuck me_.” 

Jesse thankfully complies, and hooks Hanzo’s legs around his thick waist, the tip of his dick presses bluntly against his slick hole, just barely catching the rim before slipping off and smearing lube against the underside of his thigh. Hanzo hisses, eyes narrowed in annoyance at the look Jesse shoots him, half exasperation and half full of love, before he uses his hand to guide himself in.

Hanzo gasps, any other noise caught in his tightening throat as his spine arches just so, Jesse merely watches, sweat beading on his forehead and nostrils flaring wildly, pushing in a single slow, inexorable slide until he bottoms out. He pants heavily, staring down at Hanzo’s face for any sign of pain; he’s a vision like that, with soft afternoon light making his sweat-slick skin seemingly glow as bright as his eyes do, Hanzo’s eyes follow the few strands of hair that have escaped his braid and plaster themselves to his forehead. 

He feels overheated, McCree’s dick scorching like an inferno where it sits inside of him, and he grabs onto Jesse for dear life when his hips begin to move. Jesse sounds like a dying man as he moves, his thumbs press hard into the dips of his hips as he moves inside of him.

“Fuck, y’feel,” the words sound like they’re being punched out of him, and he lets out a whine, bowing his head as he delivers one particularly hard thrust, “fuckin’ _Goddamn_.”

Hanzo arches his back, trying to get him deeper, almost impossible so, and feels more than sees Jesse’s hands move to dig into the dip of his lower spine. He freezes ever so slightly when he feels nails, much sharper than they should be, pressing into his flesh, but the moment passes when a shivery moan, unbidden, leaves his lips. 

“That’s right, darlin’, it’s okay t’be loud, let ‘em know what I do t’you,” McCree rasps. The words have Hanzo’s stomach swooping, and he barely has any warning before he clenches impossible tighter around McCree.

Jesse looks almost shocked as Hanzo comes all over his stomach, untouched and without warning, and his eyes glaze over and he hunkers down, nosing into the side of his neck and _biting_. Hanzo’s muscles jolt against him, and he cries out when Jesse’s pace gets _harder and deeper_ , punching in and out of him like a fucking _animal_ , using him. It has him moaning higher now, the flush spreading farther down his chest, at the feeling of— _Christ_ , he’s hard again.

Jesse’s bite breaks his skin then, and Hanzo trembles against him, another orgasm rushing it out of nowhere just as Jesse’s body locks up and his breathing stops. He can feel a rush of warmth in him, and feels some trickle down his thighs, and McCree’s chest vibrates as he rumbles, deep and content, the front of his thighs pressed flush to the back of Hanzo’s, still seated deep within him.

The grip and bite recede, and McCree hoists himself up to tower over Hanzo. Hanzo moves to unwrap his legs from his waist, but McCree holds his ankles locked; he raises a brow, and McCree reaches a finger into the mess of cum coating his belly and it clean. 

“Fuck,” Hanzo breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Gotta say, y’taste as good as you smell,” he drawls, licking his lips clean.

He smirks down at him, and Hanzo feels him twitch inside of him. Hanzo lets out a dismayed noise, pressing his face into his upper arm.

“I cannot go again, you might actually kill me.”

“But what a way to go, right?” Jesse laughs, and gently eases out of him, murmuring apologies when Hanzo hisses, sore and raw.

He buries into the bed, body lax and warm, when he feels McCree rub the side of his leg and say something about a warm towel to clean up and a gauze pad for his neck. He nods, all too content to just lie there and blob out, and waits until he can no longer hear McCree’s footfalls before reaching to open the drawer to grab his phone.

He swipes through his messages until he lands on one with Satya and Fareeha, he smirks, fingers moving lightning quick over the screen as he types a short and simple: ‘did it’.


End file.
